


bought and paid for

by jdphoenix



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Hydra Grant Ward, Pre-Season/Series 01
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-24
Updated: 2018-06-24
Packaged: 2019-05-28 02:36:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,362
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15038789
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jdphoenix/pseuds/jdphoenix
Summary: It's been the longest three days of their marriage, but Grant's finally home.





	bought and paid for

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MissMeggie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissMeggie/gifts).



> A belated happy birthday to the wonderful MissMeggie! I hope your birthday was as sweet as you are ~~and that you like your fic~~ <3

Grant comes in with his usual specialist grace, clearing corners and sweeping the room before his eyes settle on her, sitting at the little table in their little dining room. Jemma doesn’t know until he's come through the door what she’ll do. She’s still so confused—anger warring with hurt warring with fear—that she has to really _see_ him to know how she’ll react. As it is, she has to stand to keep the sight from pulling a sob from her and after that it’s the easiest thing in the world to go into his arms.

She kisses his lips, his cheek, his temple, his hair. The door swings shut behind him, the lock clicks into place, and her legs wrap around his waist, nudging the pack still slung over his shoulder out of the way. She’s _missed_ him, more than she knew until just this moment.

Three days. It’s not the longest he’s been on assignment, not even near it, but it feels like it. Every hour, every _second_ was like a gulf to be crossed.

She pulls him closer, her ring running through his hair while his is warmed by the skin beneath her blouse. His stubble is rough on the sensitive skin of her chest and her knees tighten.

“ _Grant_ ,” she whines, wishing he would bypass the stairs and take her straight into the living room—or better yet there’s the table just a few feet behind her and the perfect height.

But before they can go anywhere at all, a tremor cuts through him. His arms drop and she with them; she has to stumble into the table to keep from crumbling to the ground. For a heartbeat he’s frozen, cut off from her physically as well as mentally. Then all at once he moves, hands catching her face in a gesture more probing than affectionate.

“Look at me, baby,” he orders and she’s too startled to do anything else.

Whatever he sees in her eyes, it doesn’t settle him. He grabs her right hand next, turning it over to examine every inch of it from her fingertips to her wrist, front and back.

“Grant,” she says and she hates how easily the tremor comes into her voice. She’s spent days on edge, fear crowding at her every thought, and her mind slips back into those emotions like a worn pair of sweats. She touches Grant’s face, as much to anchor him as herself. “What’s wrong? What happened?”

“You were mad at me when I left,” he says. After running a hand up the inside of her arm, he’s moved on to her left and, though he dares to meet her eyes while he speaks, he doesn’t stop his examination for a second. “Are you still mad at me, Jem?”

The plea in his voice helps her fear. She _was_ angry with him. Furious, even.

She knew to expect some level of restraint from a specialist. Grant’s clearance is two full levels above hers and he’s often sent on quite secretive missions besides, there would always be things he couldn’t tell her. But this? This was far beyond a holding back of intelligence or even a flat lie. This was a deception years in the making.

He’s Hydra.

Because Hydra _exists_. Still. Within SHIELD.

Even days later she feels queasy thinking about it.

He’s staring at her with those puppy eyes, his hands twisting over hers while he waits for her to absolve him.

“Yes,” she says. Because he might be a traitor and a liar but she’s never had any talent for such things. “Yes, I am.”

That pitiful expression holds for a fraction of a second before his lips twist up into one of those rare smiles that never fail to make her heart skip. He brings her hand to his lips, kissing her fingertips.

“So what’s this?” he asks. The smile is gone, replaced by the sort of smug expression he wouldn’t hesitate to share with the world. “Hate sex?”

That’s enough distance, she decides, and steps closer, toying with his hands the way he has with hers. She feels another tremor run through him at that and ignores the way his gaze sharpens. Whatever has him so worked up, she’s far too tired for more of his secrets today.

“No,” she says softly, examining the bruises around his knuckles. He fought on that mission of his. She doesn’t let herself wonder if it was for SHIELD or for Hydra.

Because there _is_ a difference. No matter what Grant said when she laid her accusations at his feet days ago and certainly no matter what Daniel Whitehall thinks.

She met with him. Yesterday. Her skin still feels chilled the way it was on that sunlit patio while they took tea. He had her escorted to him, brought straight from her lab at the Triskelion to his estate in Connecticut, no trouble at all. That’s how deep they are within SHIELD.

He called her brilliant and told her Hydra had long coveted her but never saw any means of securing her loyalty. Not like Grant, who loves Garrett as a father. Whitehall bemoaned that fact, said it was so easy to bring men of Grant’s skills into the fold; he was pleased to welcome another scientist personally.

“No, it’s not that at all,” she says. She brings his hand to her lips, kisses his fingertips the way he did hers. “I’m still angry and I don’t know that I’ll ever forgive you.”

He tenses again, but oddly that relief is shining in his eyes more intensely than ever. Has he always been such a bundle of contradictions or is she only noticing it now that she knows the truth of him?

He also seems closer than before. The air between them is charged in a way it wasn’t before. She touches his face again for the simple pleasure of doing so. She’s reminded of their wedding night, lying in bed with him and looking just to look, touching just to touch. He is hers and she is his. That’s the bargain they made. ‘Til death.

She moves closer still so that there’s barely any air at at all between them. His warmth combats the chill clinging to her skin.

“But I won’t let you go,” she says it like a promise. Whitehall’s message yesterday might have been couched in politeness and praise but its meaning was plain as day: Hydra thinks he’s replaceable, her Grant.

Well, he’s not replaceable to _her_.

She tries to smile. “Or, if you really have to go, I’ll be coming along.”

“Jemma, you don’t have to-”

She covers his lips. She can’t bear to hear him say it.

It’s always been more than a possibility—more of a given, really—that she would lose Grant to this or that mission and she’s likely taken a year off her life from worry at this point. But if she were to give him up, to _allow_ him to be killed when she could have stopped it…

She might hate herself for betraying SHIELD, but she could never live with herself if she betrayed Grant.

This time, she really does manage the smile. “Hail Hydra,” she says and is proud that she doesn’t choke on the words.

Again, Grant freezes. Again, relief melts his caution into a smile. He kisses her and she kisses him, twice as fiercely. He hoists her onto the table and she lets herself think how it must have been for him, knowing she’d reject this part of him. He strips her of her blouse and she tears at his shirt while she thinks of all the times he must have lied to her and hated himself for it. He kisses his way to her center, allowing her to slip down, her lust-warmed skin chilled by the cool wood, and she doesn’t think of the tears falling into her hair, only of Grant. She’s given her self-respect and perhaps, if such things exist, her soul for him. No matter who he serves—Garrett or Hydra or whoever else—from this day forward, 'til death do they part, he’s hers.

 


End file.
